


Sheep in a Wolf's Clothing (on hiatus)

by radrifter



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Angst and Feels, Blood and Injury, Brooklyn, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hydra (Marvel), Military, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Nazis, POV Multiple, Pain, Reader-Insert, Russian Mafia, Slang, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-03 18:06:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16330973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radrifter/pseuds/radrifter
Summary: "Being stripped of not just your clothes, but everything you own, takes a toll on most. Nobody goes into a hostile situation looking for pain. Nobody kills and feels nothing. Nobody staring down the barrel of a gun keeps their breathing steady.Nobody but you."Go on Y/N's adventure to find out how she got herself here, staring at her lost love, and inevitably her lost life.





	1. Home Sweet Home

**Author's Note:**

> Okay guys, I am new writer on this site, but I was inspired to write some Bucky x Reader fanfiction. This story is near and dear to my heart, and I have been babying it for a while now to make sure it is perfect. I hope you enjoy it! Here is some 1920's-1930's slang definitions, in order, to clear any confusion while you are reading:  
> "Jane"-any woman  
> "Mick's"-a derogatory meaning for an Irishman(s)  
> "Bruno"-a tough guy  
> "Hoofer"-a dancer  
> "Bearcat"-a lively, spirited woman, possibly with a firey streak
> 
> This chapter is purely an intro, and no specific warnings, other than a little language at the beginning, is necessary.  
> Happy readin' :)

A Sheep in a Wolf’s Clothing: 

 

CREDITS: 

(MAIN) 

Y/N: The Reader 

BUCKY BARNES: Sebastian Stan 

STEVE ROGERS: Chris Evans 

FRANKIE “the rat” VASILIEV: Joseph Morgan 

KLIMENT VOROSHILOV: Himself 

NATASHA ROMANOFF: Scarlett Johansson 

PEGGY CARTER: Hayley Attwell 

 

(MINOR) 

GRACE Y/L/N: Alice White 

SARAH ROGERS: Grace Kelly 

WINIFRED BARNES: Elizabeth Taylor 

GEORGE BARNES: Young Marlon Brando 

REBECCA BARNES: Dakota Fanning 

MARY JONES: Isla Fisher 

 

 

*more will be added in the author’s notes as the story goes on* 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1: “Home Sweet Home” 

**(3rd person’s POV)**

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2018 in an old HYDRA compound: 

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Being stripped of not just your clothes, but everything you own, takes a toll on most. Nobody goes into a hostile situation looking for pain. Nobody kills and feels nothing. Nobody staring down the barrel of a gun keeps their breathing steady. 

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Nobody but _you._

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__

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It’s when you look up into the gun carrier’s eyes, for the first time in 72 years, your breath starts to shorten. Those cerulean eyes, that have been able to make your heart stop since from the first time you met, meet yours and silently categorize you as nothing more than a threat. Blinking back the unshed tears, tears that are 70 years plus past overdue, you realize he doesn’t remember you. 

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__

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_‘Lucky bastard’ _you think to yourself. You had been trying to forget that godforsaken pain of the man in front of you, the man holding a gun to your head, the man who caused it.__

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_____ _

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He puts two fingers to his ear, most likely getting ready to speak to whoever's on the receiving side of the com. 

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_____ _

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He speaks, 

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_____ _

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“Cap, I found a Jane followin’ me. She looks like HYDRA.” 

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_____ _

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Well, close enough. 

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_____ _

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He doesn’t say anything after that, but you can only assume that someone, “Cap”, is answering him. After a few moments, with a nod of the head and a firm “mhmm”, he puts his fingers down and straightens his posture. He cocks his weapon. 

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_____ _

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_Finally..._

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______ _ _

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With all the training you endured, you knew you could disarm him easily. You don’t, seeming as you’re ready to die. Ready to receive your punishments for all the innocent lives you’ve taken. Ready to feel again. 

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______ _ _

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The sound of footsteps around the corner in the old compound is enough to pull you out of your reverie. Glancing to you left, you see a larger figure; the wall of a man in front of you obscures your full view of the newcomer. His voice brings you out your melancholy state. 

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______ _ _

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“Y/N?” 

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______ _ _

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_Steve._

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_______ _ _ _

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You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. 

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_______ _ _ _

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Page Break

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_______ _ _ _

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**(Y/N’s POV)**

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_To sooth ones immediate confusion, let’s go back to the beginning, shall we?_

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1919 in Brooklyn: 

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_____**_ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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My mother’s name was Grace. It was a fitting name, seeming as she fucked men with it. And by grace, and an unsafe “client”, little ole’ me was born. 

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_____**__** _ _ _ _ _

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(Y/F/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N). 

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_____**__** _ _ _ _ _

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_____**__** _ _ _ _ _

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Sometime in the 1920’s: 

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_____**_ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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_____**_ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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I don’t remember much of my childhood, just the occasional men that ma would bring home and the loud music from downstairs. She wasn’t a bad woman, I completely believe she did what she did for our sake, but ma definitely had her fun. We had a roof over our heads, because ma had a knack for dancing. She had a knack for sex too, but we don’t talk much ‘bout that one. 

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_____**__** _ _ _ _ _

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The woman herself was a curly headed, blonde beauty. With her hourglass figure and smaller bust, she could have had any man she desired. And she did have them with her skimpy lookin’ dresses and T-strap heels; though the more clothing she lost, the more men she had wrapped around her finger. She’d have a ciggy every once and a while when she thought no one was looking, but I always knew when she did. Made her seem a little more human, instead of the angel everyone thought she was; it gave her a flaw. 

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_____**__** _ _ _ _ _

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Our tiny apartment was above one of Brooklyn’s most popular speakeasies, _‘the RAT trap’ _, where my ma worked as one of Brooklyn's best flappers. The joint happened to be owned by the notorious criminal, Frankie “the Rat” Vasiliev. He wouldn’t be caught dead in anything other than his signature look, crisp tuxedo with a white shirt; he often would lose his tuxedo jacket before the night was up though. He was a part of the Russian Mob, the Vasiliev family, and was conspired to have committed some of the most heinous of crimes; yet he was never convicted. The man liked his hooch and his women, that’s for sure. What he wasn’t too keen on though, was the Mick’s, or anyone else for that matter, makin’ a fool out of him. It was a rarity to see someone actually try. Those poor souls usually were never seen again. It was the dark look in his eyes and the toothy smile, he just couldn’t drop, that usually gave away his guiltiness.__

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_____**_____ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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We knew he had a record and we knew not to cross the broad-shouldered Russian, but other than that he was just my mother’s boss and sometimes a “client”, if she wasn’t doing her best dancing downstairs. 

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_____**_____ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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Though him and ma’s “agreement” wasn’t as legal as it could be and definitely wasn’t the safest, he wasn’t all that bad once you got used to him. Since I don’t know my father, he was the only real male role I had to look up to. I mean I didn’t go to him if someone was mean to me or anything, but most knew not to get too close or the Russian would have something to say. Frankie even taught me some Russian while ma was workin’. 

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_____**_____ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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_____**_____ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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1928 (this is where the story _really _begins):__

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_____**___ ____ _ _ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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I arrived at the schoolyard, ready to learn as much as the 2nd grade teacher would allow me to. Don’t get me wrong, I love my ma, but I ain’t want any life close to hers. I want a nice man, a family; I want normal. 

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_____**___ ____ _ _ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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_Huh. Look how far that dream got me._

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_____**___ ______ _ _ _ _ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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While I was walkin’ down the sidewalk, I notice a group of 4th graders making quite a lot of noise. Where I live, it’s best to keep your nose out of it and just keep walking. That’s exactly what I did. It was a few short minutes later when my gut tells me it was safe to look back, and I was shocked. And pissed. Boy was I pissed. 

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_____**___ ______ _ _ _ _ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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This dark-haired boy was dangling some change in front of the smaller, blond boy. How could someone be so cruel? We are all poor in this borough, ain’t nobody has the right to take someone else's money. School lunch was probably the only food that kid got. I immediately knew that I had to do something. 

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_____**___ ______ _ _ _ _ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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Going unnoticed from my height, or lack-there-of, I walk behind the taller boy and promptly push him in the back. When he turned around and looked down to find the source of the push, I swiftly kick him in the shin. 

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_____**___ ______ _ _ _ _ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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After grabbing the dropped change and handing it back to the blond boy, I turn to the other, with my little hands on my hips, and went to give him a piece of my mind, but he cut me off. 

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“Now what was that for?” he sounded angry, but I wasn’t scared. 

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_____**___ ______ _ _ _ _ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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“That’s what bullies like you get for takin’ another man's change. Ain’t your momma ever teach you no manners?” 

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He blinked at me and laughed. He laughed. What? Did I have something in my teeth? 

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_____**___ ______ _ _ _ _ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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“You thought I was takin’ his money?” he laughs again before continuing, “I was giving it back. Those kids over there are the ones you should be kickin’.” He motions his head to the side, where the other boys from before were. 

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_____**___ ______ _ _ _ _ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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Turning to the smaller one, asking the silent question _‘Is that true?’ _which he returned with a nod.__

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_____**___ ________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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Realizing I have made a mistake, I blush, make a quick apology, and turn away before either can reply. 

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_____**___ ________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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**(BUCKY’s POV)**

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With flushed cheeks and a nod, the small girl turned away quickly. She was probably embarrassed, though she shouldn’t be. I think it was brave of her to stick up for someone, even if I am twice her size. 

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_____**___ ______****_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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Brushing off the odd gal, I turn back to Steve. At least I think that’s his name. 

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“You alright, Bruno?” 

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He nods and squeaks out a small “thank you” and turns away to leave. 

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_____**___ ______****_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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I grab his shoulder and he quickly tries to pull away from my grasp. Letting go, I start 

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“It’s Steve, right?” he nods, I keep going, “James Barnes, but only my ma calls me James. Everyone else calls me Bucky.” He takes my hand when I offer it and introduces himself. 

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_____**___ ______****_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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I can already tell this was going to be the start of something good. 

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_____**___ ______****_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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That brave girl from before just would not leave my mind that night. She may be a kid, but she has heart. Strange. Steve and I are meant to walking through the city tomorrow, I’ll ask him if he knows her then. I’d rather not ask around, so hopefully he does know her. 

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_____**___ ______****_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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Deciding I shouldn't just bring up the girl immediately, I waited until we were halfway through our walk and that’s when I brought up the topic; the topic of the elusive girl that was clouding up my thoughts. 

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Falling into step with Steve, I reluctantly start up the conversation. 

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I bump his shoulder with mine and ask, “Is there a reason those fellas were messin’ with ya yesterday?” 

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“Not sure, they just wanted someone to pick on.” He finishes with a shrug and a sigh. 

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“Well, what about that girl then?” I inquire. 

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“Y/N?” 

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“Y/N.” I repeat. I like the sound of that. 

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Raising an eyebrow at my breathless voice, he nods and continues. 

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“Yeah, her ma is a dancer at the Rat’s place. She's got quite the reputation, if ya know what I mean.” 

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Her ma is a hoofer? That doesn’t make any sense. No wonder she doesn’t like bullies, probably gets picked on all the time. 

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For some reason, the thought of anyone being mean to her bothers me. 

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_____**___ ______****_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ** _ _ _ _ _

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_From that day on, as long as he was in that school, Bucky made sure no one even thought about hurting (Y/N)’s feelings. Although, she wouldn’t find out this information until later on._

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Near the start of the school year in 1930: 

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**(Y/N’s POV)**

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Talking to the boys I completely embarrassed myself in front of 2 years ago, was not something I think I could do. I mean, what would they think of me? 

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‘Look at that little kid, she thinks she’s tough’ they’d laugh. 

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Or maybe they’d say something like, ‘Get outta here squirt’ and ruffle my hair. Then they’d laugh. 

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Or maybe they’d say my favorite one of all time, ‘Go play with your dolls and leave us alone’ and then they’d laugh. 

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Every scenario ends with them laughing at me and me gettin' even more humiliated. 

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There was absolutely no way I could talk to blue-eyed pair of 6th graders. The smaller blond, perhaps? He is less intimidating, nothing like the healthier, dark-haired, handsome— I quickly pull my mind from the gutter. Anyways, no way. 

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It’s a tap on the shoulder that brings me back this time. Turning, my eyes go wide, my mouth gaping open as well at the person in front of me. _Was he a mind reader or somethin’?_

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“Doll, you gonna take a drink or not?” he gestures the water fountain and smirks. That smirk was all it took to make me weak in the knees. 

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Nodding, I quickly dip down and take a small sip, trying my hardest not to blush from the nickname. Stepping away and spinning on my heel, I run directly into the blond. Noticing that he was about to fall, I grab his shoulders, steadying him. 

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“Oh dear, I’m so sorry.” 

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“I, uh, um, it’s alright.” he stutters. “Um, I never got to uh, thank you for sticking up for me a couple years back. So, thank you Y/N.” 

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What? He was thanking me? And how in the world did he know my name? 

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Breaking the awkward silence, the other speaks up, 

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“Yeah, that was some stunt you pulled. Am I so scruffy that you thought I'd pick on ‘ole Stevie here?” smacking a hand on the frail boy’s shoulder. 

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Looking down, I think of an answer, 

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“No?” I question, “I just didn’t think it was too friendly to rob someone.” 

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“Well aren’t you a bearcat!” the brunet says, cocking his head to the side and smirking. 

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_That smirk again... wow._

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What’s wrong with you Y/N? Get it together. 

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With my newfound confidence I shrug and say, 

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“I try.” 

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The two laugh, but in a heartfelt way. Definitely not the reaction I was expecting from them. 

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_That was the beginning of a friendship that would last a lifetime._

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_Or two._

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was the first chapter! How did you like it? Leave comments to tell me your predictions! The next chapter is finished and I have the third one in the works right now. I plan to post on Wednesdays, but shit happens and that might not always be the case. I will try my hardest to not keep y'all waiting too long though. This story is gonna take you on one hell of a ride, but it will be worth it in the end!
> 
> Tune in next Wednesday to see how Y/N deals with the blue-eyed pair! Leave a kudos if you enjoyed!
> 
> -Much love already, your friendly Radrifter :)


	2. I'll Stand by You (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and the Reader's friendship blossoms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, chapter 2 is here! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter and you decided to keep reading. This chapter is part 1 out of 2 of how Steve and the Reader becomes friends. Sadly, Bucky is not in this chapter, but he should be making an appearance in the next chapter or two.  
> Here's the slang:  
> Cancelled Stamp- shy, lonely, female  
> Giggle Water- alcoholic beverage  
> Drum- speakeasy  
> Grifter- con man  
> Button Man- professional killer  
> Redhot- criminal of sorts  
> Roscoe- a gun  
> Number(s)- a person or persons  
> Spiffy- elegant  
> High Pillow- a person in charge or on top  
> Copper- a cop
> 
> There is some Russian in this chapter, and there will be in almost ever chapter to come. Translations are in the writing, but there is one word that will be floating around for awhile.  
> "kroshechnyy"- tiny
> 
> No warnings are needed, except some language, but nothing too bad.  
> Happy readin' :)

Chapter 2 “I’ll Stand by You” 

**(Y/N’s POV)**

 

During the school year 1930-1931:

I would be considered what they call a “cancelled stamp”, seeming that I usually keep to myself and stay close to home. I’m not much of a people person, since people can be mean. Judging my background, like I can control it. Does everyone really think I wanted to be Brooklyn’s best dancers' daughter? Just ‘cause ma likes to have her fun, the kids at school don’t wanna be my friend? Why is that? What did I ever do to them, I mean other than being born? Maybe they’re scared of Frankie? The man isn’t the greatest, but I don’t think his reputation is that bad. Is it? _Anyways..._

I have a routine that I follow religiously, not that I am or anythin’. God’s dead. Died when I was born, or at least that’s what ma used to say when I was little. She hit the giggle water a lot back then... 

Anyways, back to that routine... it went along the lines of this: 

1) Wake up early so I enough time to make me and ma breakfast, though hers went in the refrigerator until she woke up later in the day. She generally doesn’t get up until around noon, seeming as she is up most of the night doin’ God knows what. 

2) I get as ready as possible for the day; dressing in whatever happens to be clean but insuring to bring my heaviest coat. Brooklyn is terribly cold this time of year. 

3) Next, I Run downstairs to see if I can help anyone with anything. I don’t like that ma does all this hard, hard work for me, so I help around the drum where ever they need me. Sweeping up, wiping down the booths, pushing out some sorry eggs that had a little too much to swallow the night before. Whatever they need, you name it. 

4) I then walk to school all the while avoidin’ anyone that looks even the slightest bit like a grifter, have ‘nough of those at home. I soak up as much information as they’ll let me from the run-down school. This is mainly the reason for my solitude, seeming that I don’t have time for anyone else. 

5) After school, I hurry home, so I can get to my daily Russian lessons. Ma didn’t like Frankie teachin’ me his first language, but she got “used” to it pretty quick when the button man himself insisted. I am getting good too, I know most common words. I can also hold some conversations with his redhots that come ‘round the place, which was more often as of recently _... hmmm..._ I’m sure they only do it to humor me, but I don’t mind much. 

6) When we’re finished, I stay to do my homework until it starts getting busy; both ma and Frankie agree that they don’t like me down there when some of the odder patrons come around, saying something along the lines of ‘it’s not safe, sweetheart’. Though since the Rat has started teaching a little about the roscoe’s, don’t tell ma (!!!), I think I could handle myself well enough. Well, probably not, a lot of freaks hang around here. 

7) I go up to the apartment to make dinner for ma and me, then eat. I usually read while I eat, in attempts to drown out the loud music downstairs. As of now, I’m reading The Great Gatsby. I have fallen in love with romance that stirs between Jimmy and Daisy, and I can only hope for a happy ending. 

_Is there ever truly a happy ending in real life? Or do all real-life romances end up with a bullet as well?_

8) At last, an early end, since I begin with an early start. So, I brush my teeth and head off to bed. 

9) Repeat. 

A couple months after the original confrontation:

I try to avoid the blue-eyed pair as much as possible. I am not sure why I do this exactly... well, who am I kidding? Of course, I know why. It's that damned brunet dreamboat, with that _smirk_ and the way he sweet talks, that just make me weak in the knees. But my attempts to ignore the sixth graders don’t go unnoticed and the smaller one eventually confronts me, while I'm holding my books close to my chest and walking down the hall. Awkwardly, since the boy looks like he has never talked to any girl other than his mother. 

“Uh, little miss, did um me and Buck” _ugh. him._ “do somethin’ to ya that has you against even lookin’ in our direction?” 

_‘I wish, then it would be easier.’_ With a small wave of my hand, or as much of one I could muster, I start, 

“Of course not, hun!” 

“Then is there a reason behind it?” he drills. Damn, he’s persistent. 

I conjure up a shrug, “Well I didn’t really think you cool cats would want to be friends with a gal like me, durin’ your last year here before junior-senior.” 

“Well I can’t speak for Bucky, but I'd sure love another friend if you’re up for it!” 

He gets the biggest smile on his face when I nod. 

“Why not?” I return his smile before realizing that I don’t actually know the blond boys name. My mind was completely clouded when Bucky said it before, his pretty face distracting me from most of what he was saying at the time. 

“Well, if we’re gonna be friends, I best learn your name. Though from what I remember, you already know mine. How is that, huh?” 

Sticking out his hand, he then realizes I have books obstructing my ability to return his hand. He offers to hold them, and I quickly take him up on that. With my books under his one arm, he retries the handshake, which I take. 

“Steve Rogers, ma’am.” he proudly states, then drops his hand. 

“Well _Steve Rogers_ , how is that you already know my name?” 

He looks down and scratches the back of his neck with his small hands, before whispering out a small question, 

“Uh it’s not all that important, is it?” 

“Come on Stevie” I bump his shoulder with mine as he begins to walk me to class, “it can’t be that bad.” 

He glances shyly at the ground, not yet uttering a word, as he leads me to Mrs. Smith’s class. 

“Uh, a couple years back I um heard some other kids talkin’ dirty on some girl and saying her ma was a flapper for “the Rat”. I’m not proud to say I was curious, but uh I was... so I asked who.” 

The look in his eyes as he silently pleads for his forgiveness, would have me forgivin’ him ASAP, if I hadn't already. 

“Oh, it’s alright sweet cheeks” I say with a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach my eyes, and lightly pat his cheek. 

He huffs out a breath of air and gives me a serious look, “People can be mean,” _huh, where have I heard that one before?_ “but I never will be. I know what it’s like to be on the other side of the numbers cruel words...” 

“Thank ya, Stevie.” I say with full sincerity in my voice. He smiles and nods. 

By the end of this unsettling conversation, we had made it to my classroom. Steve returns my books, and I turn to go back to class. A hand on my shoulder stops me. 

“My ma is bakin’ a ham and some carrots for supper tonight, if ya want to join us? I’m sure she won’t mind, since that’s way too much food for just the two of us.” 

His statement lights up my eyes, I don’t even have to think about it and I know ma won’t care. 

I nod promptly, “I’m sure you already know where I live, so meet me there a little after school?” 

He nods sharply, with a generous smile, and we go our separate ways. 

 

I couldn’t concentrate all day, because I was just too excited for my dinner at the Roger’s place. Although a variety of questions raced through my head, all along the lines of these: 

Did I have a nice dress for tonight? 

Was ma going to be able to make her own supper? 

Should I whip something up before I leave? 

Is Frankie gonna be mad at me for missing my lessons? 

What can I offer up to make up for that? 

Do I even like baked ham? 

Should I bring something to Mrs. Rogers? 

What should I bring for Mrs. Rogers? 

Could I con Frankie into picking me up tonight? 

What could I offer up to make him? 

 

And throughout the day, I came up with the answers to the questions that had been pegging my thoughts all day: 

Firstly, the clothing situation. I have a red, white, and blue one that ma got me for Christmas a couple years back that would be perfect for tonight. 

I decided it wasn’t likely ma could make herself dinner, so I’d whip up a potato and cheese casserole. It was easy enough for me to make, and I would have a bit of time before I left. 

Frankie probably wouldn’t be too excited about me missin’ my lessons, but I could bring him some potato and cheese casserole to make up for it. 

As for me, I think I probably do like baked ham. _Food’s food, ain’t it?_

I settled on bringing Mrs. Rogers a flower from one of the tables downstairs. I hope it’s good enough for the woman cookin’ me supper tonight. 

Coning Frankie into picking me and taking me home shouldn’t be too difficult, since him nor my ma like me outside at night, alone in this borough. Or any borough, for that matter. I could make him a platter of my famous caramel custard to make up for it, ‘cause he always steals some off of my plate anytime I have it. 

 

After school got out, I was so excited for tonight, that I almost ran out without my stuff. Ms. Smith had to call my name a couple times to get me to turn around. I didn’t even let her scolding get to me, as I turned on my heel and promptly ran extra fast despite her, out the building and all the way home. 

I didn’t slow down quick enough when I rounded the corner, on my way towards the back entrance, so I gracefully smash into the wooden door. Billy assumes that is my knock, knowing how I am, and pulls back the small wooden tab. 

“Password?” he questions with a thick Russian accent. 

“Billy, baby. It’s me, Y/N. Uhhh... it was ‘cobbler’ last week, so next up has to be... ‘Jerry sent me’?” 

Instead of answering, Billy opens the large door and lets me by. Under his breath I hear him mumble, “Sumasshedshiy rebenok,” in Russian. _Crazy child_. 

“Hey!” He rolls his eyes to my exclamation, but I brush it off quickly and continue my trek up the old, creaky stairs. 

Upon my entering of the apartment, I immediately see my mom lounging on the couch reading this month's subscription to _McClure’s Magazine_. She looks up when she hears the door opening, her smile drops and her brows furrow at the rushed state I am in. 

“Hi bug?” she questions, brows furrowing further. She has called me ‘bug’ for as long as I can remember, saying it was because I was “her baby” and that I was “so tiny” when I was born. 

“Maaaaaaaaa...” I drag on, pushing the door closed and leaning on it. She raises an eyebrow at my behavior, and I continue, “So, I made a new friend today, and he asked if I wanted to have dinner with him and his ma. He is very kind and his isn’t mean to me like the other kids... Can I go ma? Please?” 

She thinks it over for a second, twisting her face into a questionable one at first, then nods her head with a smile. 

“That’s great, bug! I’m glad you’re finally makin’ friends.” she has gotten up now, heading towards where I am standing by the door. I meet her in the middle and we embrace in a hug, to which then she whispers in my ear. 

“So, whatcha gonna wear?” That has me giggling, as I divulge my plans to her. 

 

Ma left shortly after our girl-talk, saying that she ‘had to go talk to the Rat before getting ready in the dressing room downstairs’. She wished me a good night, with a pat on my head and kissed my cheek before she walked out the door. 

I make up the casserole and put it in the oven, setting a timer, and hop in the bath to wash off the school day. After me and the casserole are both done, I dish up two plates. One plate going into the refrigerator, and the other going with me downstairs. 

Just as expected, Frankie is sitting at the bar, his nose in business papers, with a double shot of bourbon on the rocks next to him. The bartender, Mickey, is wiping down the bar in front of him. When he hears the small footsteps coming towards him, he turns and smirks when he sees me. 

“Ty opozdal” he chides. _You’re late_. 

“I know, I'm sorry.” I set the plate next to him. He smiles when he realizes I understood him. He is a great teacher, after all. Also smiling at the fact that I brought him food. 

“What’s with the spiffy look, kroshechnyy?” he asks as he begins to dive into the casserole. I roll my eyes at the nickname, seeming as he has been callin’ me _‘tiny’_ for as long as I can remember. That being the first reason that made me want to learn the high pillow’s first language. 

“Wellllllllll... I actually just came down here to talk to you about that...” his silence is a sign for me to continue, “A new friend of mine asked me to have dinner with them and their ma, and I was wonderin’ if I could skip out on our lessons for today?” 

He doesn’t answer right away, leaving me to suffer in the silence. I know he doesn’t like new people, always assuming they’re a copper of sorts. After he takes a couple bites of his food and a swig or two of his bourbon, he answers. 

“I don’t care, kroshechnyy, just know tomorrow is gonna be even more difficult.” he warns through a mouthful of potatoes and cheese. It takes him a moment to realize that I am still rocking on my feet next to him. 

“What?” 

“I was also wonderin’ if you’d come pick me up tonight after supper?” I put on my biggest smile, as a way to sweeten up the large Russian. 

“And what would I be getting' in return?” 

I pause, acting as if I need to think, as if I hadn’t been thinkin’ about this all day. 

“My famous caramel custard?” 

“Is that a question?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Alright. I don’t like the idea of you walkin’ home alone anyways.” 

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” I give him a side hug and quickly write down Steve’s apartment complex’s address on a nearby napkin and slide it next to him 

While I'm skipping away, I hear Mickey saying something in Russian to the Rat, 

“Vzbityy rebenkom” _Whipped by a child_. Frankie just glares at him, then goes back to his forgotten business. 

I giggle at the comment and snatch a white tulip out of the small vase in the middle of one of the tables closest to the door, and head towards my freedom for the night. 

 

Steve is waiting outside when I open the door, wearing a brown jacket. I wish Billy a quick goodbye and rush out to my new friend. 

Upon seeing me, he smiles and asks, 

“Ready?” 

“Yep.” I say, my smile matching his own. And so began our journey downtown to Steve’s apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hoped you liked this chapter! Tell me how you think chapter 3 is going to go, what are your predictions? Comment below. 
> 
> Tune in next Wednesday to see how Y/N and Steve evolves! Leave a kudos if you enjoyed this chapter and if you want me to keep writing! 
> 
> Lots of love, Radrifter :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the second part of the last chapter:  
> We get to see how the kinda family dinner went, and how Steve and the Readers friendship develops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS IS SUPER LATE!! Whoops *finger guns*  
> No warnings are needed, except one little bad word... whatta ya gonna do?  
> There is also no slang in this, because I'm lazy.  
> Happy readin' :)

Chapter 3: “You’ve Got a Friend” (part 2 of “I’ll Stand by You”) 

**(Y/N’s POV)**

 

Continued from last chapter, 1931, set during the evening at the Roger’s household:

The eleven-block walk from _‘the Trap’_ to 43rd street was uneventful. The two of us were in a peaceful silence, except for the occasional ‘watch your step’ or ‘take a left up there’. His block is quieter than mine, but that probably means the crime rates are lower down on this side of Brooklyn. His ma and pa probably liked that their small, frail boy would be a tiniest bit safer. Or as safe as he could be with men like Frankie hangin’ around. 

I probably shouldn’t tell Mrs. Rogers my relation to him, should I? _Absolutely not._

A small hand pulls me out of my thoughts, lightly shaking my bicep. 

“Huh? Did ya say something?” 

“Uh yeah. I said that we made it here.” I follow his small head nod towards the colossal, brick apartment complex. The golden numbers 826 stare back at me. I’m sure at some point I woulda been able to see my reflection in the large numbers, but this borough is filthy and got its grime all over everything. 

Steve leads us through the glass doors and up the stairs straight ahead. After walking up four floors, it seems as if we have arrived. I hear subtle piano playing through the wooden door, I can't be sure if I've ever heard it in the past. 

The small apartment was exceedingly homey. Olive green curtains contrasts the deep red paint nicely. Aged furniture lines the whole living room, or at least as much as it could, seeming as it is quite a small room. Every piece extends off the two wingback chairs from their place in the center. That must have been where Sarah and her late husband sat together after the day was done. 

A fair, petite, blonde woman, clad in a nurse's outfit, was setting the small oak table with a slight sway of her hips. The music was clear now, the record player only a few feet away from the small dining room, it sounded like something I have heard before. Maybe ma played it when I was little, otherwise I'm sure I could name it if I've heard it recently. 

Steve strolls up to his mother and gives her a side hug. The smile on her face only grows more once she sees her son. She returns the embrace fully and gives the short boy a kiss on the top of his head. 

“Hiya hunny.” I shift awkwardly on my feet, making the floor boards beneath me creek. _Great._ Her head snaps up at the sound, the frown painted on her face on lasts a second before her smile returns. 

She wipes her hands on her uniform quickly, then extends a hand towards me, which I accept with a smile. 

“You must be Y/N. My Stevie’s told me a lot about the girl who saved him from James.” she grins, obviously making a joke. I let out a tiny chuckle at the memory, with a quick nod I begin to speak. 

“That’d be me, Mrs. Rogers. I just want to thank ya for supper, I really appreciate it.” 

“The pleasure’s all mine, sweetie.” the smile she wore was quite contagious 

 

The ham was roasted to perfection, golden brown edges lining the outside. The small carrots added much flavor to the savory pig. The dinner was eaten in a comfortable silence, a curious Sarah Rogers was the one to break said silence. We were just finishing up the sweet cheesecake when the conversation of my homelife came up. 

“So, Y/N,” she looks up from her small plate, “where are you from?” That friendly smile mocks me. 

“I live a couple blocks from here. Right on the corner of 54th and 7th Avenue, ma’am,” I say with fake confidence and a nod. 

Her voice is steady, and it never falters when she continues, 

“And do your parents work nearby?” 

“Uh... yes... my mom works in the building we live in.” I try to hold her stare, but my knees are very interesting at this moment in time. 

Surprisingly, the topic was dropped at that, but I am sure she knew. How she knew was beyond me, but she knew. 

The three of us fall into a nice conversation about other things, all throughout supper and up until the clock struck eight. The loud dings and dongs from the old grandfather clock in the corner, made me realize that Frankie was probably outside, and it was time to leave. 

After thanking Mrs. Rogers, for the thousandth time, she pulls me into a warm hug. As her arms hold me to her chest, a floral smell invades my senses. I place it instantly. Lilacs. My favorite. She leans down towards my ear and softly states, “Now hunny, you come back ‘round here anytime you want. You’ll always be welcomed with a smile.” I quickly nod and pull away. A real smile is plastered on my face. 

Steve walks me to the front door, down the creaky stairs, and all the way to the front of the building. The permanent shy smile that has resided on his face all night is still very present when the two of us are finally outside. Seeming as he’s probably not going to say anything, I speak up, 

“Thank you for invitin’ me, Stevie. I had a really nice time. Your ma is just the nicest.” 

Out of the blue, he throws his small arms around me and pulls me into a bear hug. I recover from the initial force, which was a surprising amount coming from such a feeble looking boy, and returned the hug with just as much strength. 

A black, Ford Model A’s tires screeched to a stop at the front of the building, thoroughly popping the friendly bubble Steve and I created for ourselves. 

My thumb is already pointed to the sleek vehicle behind me when I start, 

“That’s me.” 

“Wanna eat lunch with me and Buck tomorrow?” 

“Forward. Fun. Sure, count me in.” 

“Drive safe.” 

I step closer to the blond, “Sleep well Stevie, don’t let the bed bugs bite.” A subtle slap on the cheek punctuates each word. 

It isn’t till I close the heavy door and the car is already halfway down the block, that I realize that I’m having lunch with Steve _and_ Bucky Barnes, the hottest person I’ve ever seen in my life, _tomorrow_. I immediately put a palm to my face and drag it down, muttering a small “Blyad.” _Fuck._

 

During some point in 1931:

Lunch wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. Things _were_ a little awkward, thanks to me of course, but not unbearable. Bucky did most of the talking, seeming as Steve and I are both remarkably quiet. He spoke of random topics; mostly stories of him and Steve, the sports he played, and the one that surprised me the most was: how much he loved his little sister. 

His eyes shined an even brighter shade of blue when he described the younger Barne’s child. I had never met her, but from his description I knew that her hair shimmered like the sun, her eyes matched his, and that the four-year-old little girl never went anywhere without a stuffed bear that Bucky won her at last year’s trip to Coney Island. Apparently, that shimmering hair caused a lot of confusion in his family, because _apparently—not that I'd know—_ the rest of Barnes clan (i.e. him and his parents) were all brunets. 

Bucky attempted to pull me out of my shell, but he didn’t succeed. He was still too new, and might I add, too pretty to have a real conversation with. I tended to only answer his questions in the fastest and shortest ways possible. Steve inevitably became our buffer; we talked to each other through him. It was a little uncomfortable, but that lunch went way better than I originally thought it would and it became a regular thing for the three of us to do. We would meet at the small, wooden picnic table in the even smaller cafeteria and have an almost conversation over our sad school meals. 

I remember a particular day, the sun glistening off the frost that covered the pavement and slicked the roads. The air was chilled, but I was not sick, so it was fresh to breathe in. I don’t know how to explain it, I just felt... _alive_. And then I saw the boys later for lunch, I had made it to the table before they had so I watched as they approached to join me; Bucky held a beaming smile while the girls wooed over him, but he could never tell. I felt something then, in the very pit of my stomach, _jealousy_. 

“Hi,” he said, in a gentle attempt to get through to me. 

I gave the smallest of smiles in return, but his eyes lit up anyways. I felt my cheeks flush, but quickly swallowed my pride. Steve gave me a funny look, as if saying _'Hey man, you good?’_ I responded with an apprehensive _'He’s too pretty.’_ To which he rolled his eyes and smirked, thinking I was only joking. 

As usual, I remained silent unless I spoke to Steve, and Bucky did the same. There was one moment though, Steve was gushing over a sketch he was very proud of, and I allowed myself a glimpse of Bucky. My eyes met his, _he was staring_ , and we both smiled at each other, as if in awe of Steve. 

Today though, Bucky would not be joining Steve and I at the tiny table. He had said the day before, on our walk home, (since he lived across the street from Steve’s apartment complex and mine was on the way) that he and a few of his other friends had a baseball meeting that they “just couldn’t miss”. I should have been relieved at the news, but I was far from it. It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to go with his other friends, friends that I believe are trying to poison his mind with negativity, but I just liked his presence. He brought a side of Steve that I had no idea even existed and he could always make me laugh. Laughter is key in any relationship—friendship, excuse me. Or at least it was an important part in growing one. 

My emotions are usually kept in check, but I guess I just couldn’t hide my glumness. Steve was on my back as soon as I sat down at the table. 

“What’s wrong? You look down.” 

“It’s nothing, I’m okay.” That statement was far from convincing, and I knew it too. 

_Sigh._

“You sure? Come on doll, tell me what’s going on.” I just want to smack that dumb smile off his dumb face. Logically speaking, this is just how Steve is; he worries about me. Take a deep breath Y/N... 

_Breathe in and hold, breathe out._

_Breathe in and hold, breathe out._

_Breathe in and hold, breathe out._

_That’s it..._

Taking one more deep breath and exhaling, I conjure up a reply to Steve’s unyielding niceness. 

“I promise Stevie, I’m A-Okay.” The smile I plastered on my face is enough to convince him to back off. 

The mush-like lunch is eaten over a friendly conversation. He brought up my sour mood without even realizing he was. The blond hair, blue-eyed boy was the poster boy for being a saint. If my significant change in attitude was noticeable, Steve had yet to mention it. How kind of him. 

 

The scheduled lunches continued like this until the end of the school year. This routine was the only constant thing that I had in my life, and I was thankful for it. By the middle of the year, I realized that I would be alone again soon, once they left for Junior-Senior High. Both boys reassured me that would not be the case, but I wasn’t completely convinced. I brushed off the depressing thoughts and decided to focus on the remaining time I had with the two of them. 

Summer brought on a lot more adventures for the three of us. Bucky had new responsibilities as baseball captain, but he made sure to make room in his hectic schedule for me and Steve. Us three managed to create an insane amount chaos in the eleven blocks between our three apartments. We had as much fun as possible, in the few months we had left together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was that? Not too bad I hope! I am going to haul ass and actually work on chapter four, I promise. Leave a kudos if you enjoyed and tell me your predictions for the next chapter! 
> 
> Tune in next Wednesday for some sad fuckin' times. We're gonna dive into some of that angst I tagged :)))))
> 
> Yours, Radrifter


End file.
